


To Be Alive

by teprometo



Series: 2014 Summer Pornathon [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an enemy attack nearly claims Arthur's life, Merlin is livid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 Summer Pornathon week one challenge [Sexpistolary](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/101129.html).
> 
> Inspired by: [(609): We almost died tonight..we almost die every night. but tonight was the closest by far](http://textsfromlastnight.com/Text-Replies-22876.html)

“We almost died tonight,” Merlin says, voice low and seething in the chill quiet of the vacant courtyard.

Arthur is breathless and giddy, still letting out little hiccoughs of laughter, alive with the high of a near brush with death. He claps Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin is stiff under his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Arthur says, reaching for Merlin’s wrist, trying to keep him from storming off to Gaius’s chambers in a dramatic huff. Merlin stops walking and glances over his shoulder at Arthur, and the moment is still enough that Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart beating through the soft, thin skin at his wrist. But whatever Merlin sees on Arthur’s face seems to set him off again. He wrenches his arm away and stomps off towards the castle. Arthur jogs to catch up, a sharp pain in his knee reminding him of the blow he’d taken at the hands of one of Cenred’s men.

“Listen, I didn’t ask you to come,” Arthur says. “In fact, you just sort of showed up, and I’m not really even sure how you knew where I was, but I was perfectly—”

Merlin is considerably stronger than he looks. Arthur’s back cracks into the stone banister lining the steps up to the castle, Merlin’s hands squeezing at his shoulders just outside his neck, as though it’s taking all his effort not to strangle him.

“We almost died!” Merlin shouts, and the force of his words makes Arthur feel like he’s just been caught with his hand in his breeches, ashamed and a little bit scared.

“Merlin, it was—”

“You’re not getting it,” Merlin says, and one hand curls behind Arthur’s neck, fingers digging into his hair, wrenching his head back so Arthur has to squint down to see Merlin. It hurts to breathe like this, his throat pulled too tight, but he doesn’t push Merlin away. He’s too curious about this, too fascinated by what Merlin will do, what he could possibly hope to accomplish.

“What am I not getting?” Arthur grits out. “Come on; tell me. You’re risking charges of treason for this little outburst, so get on with it.”

Merlin shakes his head from side to side and leans in, his whole body draped over Arthur’s, his face so close to Arthur’s that Arthur can feel the warmth of Merlin’s shallow breathing.

“You almost died,” Merlin says, and it sounds like a gasp, a whispered confession that means more than it means. “If I hadn’t been there—”

“You were,” Arthur says, one hand finding Merlin’s elbow. The moment is quiet and tense and distinctly uncomfortable.

It’s Merlin who makes the first move, and Arthur wouldn’t have predicted that, but in retrospect, it makes sense. Merlin’s lips are warm and strong, and Arthur wets them with his tongue, slips inside. Merlin’s hand is down the front of Arthur’s trousers before he’s even hard, and that is so completely _like_ Merlin, to assert himself where he isn’t welcome, but _god_ , how Arthur welcomes him now, the delicious, satisfying weight of him.

The banister still juts into Arthur’s back, and Merlin’s fingers are still tight in his hair, and Merlin’s mouth leaves wet trails down Arthur’s throat that sting in the cold night air.

Merlin’s hips rock against Arthur’s thigh, slowly, deliberately, and Arthur realises that Merlin is in complete control, that this isn’t just some weird moment of anger-fuelled passion.

“Why—” Arthur starts asking, but he doesn’t know what the question is, really, only that he doesn’t understand why Merlin feels so good against him, despite the cold, despite the pain in his back, despite who he is, and who Merlin is, and how vulnerable they both are in this moment.

But Merlin doesn’t need the whole question. He just answers, simple and clear and earnest against Arthur’s chin, “You know why.”

And Arthur does know. And when Merlin brings him off, all of Arthur’s discomfort and doubt go quiet, and one truth asserts itself in him: he is happy to be alive.


End file.
